Cadere Caelum
by clamjam
Summary: AU: Harry doesn't learn what he has until he has to destroy it. horcrux!draco, hpdm slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Cadere Caelum**

**A/N:** OK, this might sound like mpreg at first, but I can assure you, I'm staying well away from that after a brief bunny attack the other day. shudder An experience I wouldn't care to repeat. Mpreg…not…anatomically correct. _Anyway_, this is AU, as Dumbledore is alive and Draco and Snape are…around, and Hogwarts is open and people are there and stuff. I kept pretty much everything from HBP canon except for the final battle and the subplot leading up to it, meaning that Dumbledore and Harry got the fake Horcrux and had all their talks and Slughorn is there and stuff, but Draco hasn't done anything or taken the mark or anything, and no end battle. So there you have it. If I was a better author I wouldn't have to explain this. Damn. Uh…so…this will get slashy, I promise. I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to make it slashy, but we'll work it out. Harry/Draco. And…so that's pretty much it. So….yeah….enjoy, review, don't kill me.

**Chapter 1**

_Draco's journal_

There's something inside of me.

It's…something terrible, an awful dark weight pulling me down constantly. Sometimes at night I can hear it in my head, and it sounds like a thousand people being murdered. Some days, and I've noticed that it usually comes on days when Father and his Master and his fellow Death Eaters are carrying out a mission, something feels like it might explode, like it's trying to get out, like it's only part of a whole and it needs to rejoin its other pieces to achieve some greater, massively important purpose. It's a strange feeling. Like a straining at my insides, an angry wind trying to escape me.

It's been there ever since I can remember, since I was a baby, in the days when my father went on "business trips." And now that the Dark Lord has risen again, it's more of the same, sort of. Father's gone and mother's always anxious and paler than usual. Of course, I know where he is now—Azkaban. So I thought that I might have taken the Mark by now, as his replacement. I suppose I'm too young, and Father wants an heir and doesn't want me killed before I marry off to a nice pureblood girl and produce a healthy baby Malfoy to carry on the family line.

When I was little I barely noticed the feeling. I was preoccupied with the trials and tribulations of being a small child. I suppose I just thought it to be a chronic stomachache or something equally unimportant.

But as I got older, I began to notice things. The screaming. The nightmares. The desperate need to get out, to go far away, to make something whole.

Recently, I've started to make connections. I saw that its insistence to part with me subsided when the Dark Lord fell, and arose with the greatest vengeance the night Potter disappeared into that maze three years ago. Ever since then, it's been like a constant buzz, sharper sometimes—usually when there's Death Eater activity.

I don't know what to make of it. Obviously there are links here, but what do they mean? And what am I supposed to do about it?

Pansy says to go to Pomfrey, but what could she do? I can imagine how that conversation would go. "Madame Pomfrey, there's this angry something inside me, and it's worst when there's dark stuff going on." She'd take my temperature and give me a potion for nerves, and what good would that do? It's not a calming draft I need. It's more like an exorcism. That's what Queenie suggested, anyway. Weird religious family.

Blaise's idea has stuck with me the most, though. He's notoriously soft-hearted when it comes to matters like the war against Voldemort.

_flashback _

"Draco?" It was breakfast, and Blaise was leaning over his cornflakes toward Draco.

"Mmm." Draco was tired, not having gotten much sleep the previous night. Predictably, the morning paper now reported that there had been a raid at a wizard town in Scotland. He felt like some sort of radar for dark activity.

"I…I was wondering about that…that thing you were telling me about," Blaise murmured.

"Which one's that, then?" Draco was sleepy, sure, but of course knew what he was talking about. That didn't mean he wanted to talk about it, though.

"That angry thing you say you've got in you. The thing that's worse when You-Know-Who's doing something."

"Mmm."

"Well, I was thinking—"

"Never a good sign, Blaise."

"Sod off. No, I was thinking that maybe you should tell Dumbledore."

"Bloody hell, Blaise, why would I want to do that?"

"No, listen. I mean, if it's got something to do with what You-Know-Who's doing…I mean, you knew about this thing that's in the paper today, didn't you?"

"I knew something was happening, or going to happen. And how did you know that I would?"

"Tough not to notice, Draco, you were thrashing around in your sleep a lot."

"Hmmph."

"But the point is, maybe you felt it right before they attacked that village, right? So…I dunno, what if you were to tell Dumbledore when you get that feeling, maybe he could act on it. You could save lives, Draco!"

"Why would I want to save the lives of people the Dark Lord is attacking, again?"

Blaise looked taken aback for a moment then muttered something about it being the "right thing to do."

"Sod the right thing to do, I don't want to talk to the Mudblood-lover about something like this and I don't plan to."

"Draco…think about it. What if it was Hogwarts? What if they were coming for Hogwarts and you knew?"

"How am I supposed to know what they're doing, Blaise?"

"Well…you sorta have a sense, don't you?"

"I'm guessing that it has a sense for dark activity at the most. But I can't predict what the activity is. I don't even know if I'm getting premonitions…it could just as well be that they affect me as they're happening. And remember, this is entirely speculation…for all we know, I really do have a chronic stomachache."

"What?"

"Never mind. The point is, the old fool would make more of it than it really is, I'm sure."

"But if it really is connected to dark activity…I mean, everybody knows that Dumbledore has spies and people working for him about that kind of thing. I mean, what if they had a suspicion about something that was going to happen and what you said confirmed or denied it?"

"So?"

"Yeah?"

"So, why's it my responsibility? Forgive me, but I'm not one to want to stand in the way of the Dark Lord."

"Well, I…"

"Yeah, Blaise, we all know how you feel about it. Go hug a Muggle, why don't you."

Blaise looked hurt and returned to his cereal, glaring. Draco didn't care much. He was in a foul mood and hated arguing with Blaise about things like this. He had to be one of maybe three Slytherins who disagreed with the Dark Lord.

Though riled by what he had said, Draco still thought about Blaise's advice through the day. It did seem like something Dumbledore would want to know about. But then, thought Draco, who am I, Harry bloody Potter?

He tried to put it out of his mind.

But that night, his insides were screaming again.

_ end flashback _

Blaise made that suggestion a couple of weeks ago, and since then it's been getting stronger, and I've been getting desperate. I don't know what telling Dumbledore could do to help, but I feel like if I don't tell someone it'll kill me. It's been getting more violent, as have the crimes of the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Worse attacks by them tend to go along with worse attacks by this thing inside me.

I'm working on talking myself into the whole Potter-esque hero-complex thing that Blaise was rambling on about, the one about how telling Dumbledore could save lives. It's such a Gryffindor thing to do…so stupid, selfless. Not only is there nothing in it for me, but it's _defying _the Dark Lord and his supporters, which is the last thing I want to do right now. And what does Blaise know, anyway? Nobody knows if what I'm feeling is related to dark activities in any way, and there's no way to figure out what the dark activity actually is. What good could it do Dumbledore, and have when have I gone crying to him over a little discomfort? Shameful. Slytherins have always been the most distant from this headmaster, and I'm no exception. And what would my father think? If I hope to take the Mark sometime soon, I have to be loyal to our side.

Not that I'm even sure if I do want to take the Mark.

Ah, well. I'm a Malfoy. I can handle this just a little longer.

**A/N: **You can probably see where I'm going with this one. I'm a stealth master, I even put it in the summary. Go me. Thanks to betas Kät, Liz, and pretty much the entire rest of the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Harry makes his first appearance in this one! Hooray Harry. Yeah…so as previously mentioned, in this AU Dumbledore is alive. And now he and Harry will have a nice chat. It shall be great. And the thing that happens in Potions does so at Kät-the-beta's suggestion. Thanks. Enjoy, review, no kill.

**Chapter 2**

_Harry's journal_

The year has started off calm enough, considering the events of my sixth year. No word from Dumbledore yet on RAB or the other Horcruxes. Somehow it's nice to not have anything immediately tangible bearing down on me for once, but then again, what lies ahead is certainly enough to be getting on with.

Malfoy's crowd has been acting strange. Zabini has been talking to Dumbledore and Queenie and Parkinson are hovering around Malfoy more than usual. He's not looking his best, either. Of course, having a father in Azkaban can't help much. I wonder if he's taken the Dark Mark yet in replacement of dear old Lucius. Maybe I'll do some investigating…

The Gryffindors and Slytherins had potions together on Monday. Malfoy was there, looking tired and ill. Harry watched him surreptitiously, wondering what was going on. Daphne Greengrass and Parkinson were shooting Malfoy nervous looks from their table in the corner, and Zabini wasn't there at all.

Harry was so distracted by these Slytherin anomalies that he quite forgot himself while brewing that day's potion, which was meant to cure food poisoning. His eyes drifted to the Slytherin corner as he stirred his cauldron haphazardly.

"Ouch!"

Harry looked around in surprise. He had accidentally slopped some of the thin yellow potion onto Ron's hand, where it was fizzing nastily. As Harry watched apprehensively, Ron's eyes bulged, and a second later, he was covered in orange feathers the exact shade of his hair. As the class roared with laughter, Harry flushed and grinned awkwardly at Ron. Slughorn sighed wearily and waddled over to get rid of the feathers. As Slughorn poked around with his wand, making Ron cluck in discomfort, Snape entered with Zabini in tow.

"I apologize for the…ah, _further_ disturbance, Professor Slughorn," said Snape, looking with disdain at Harry's slopped-over cauldron and Ron. "Mr. Zabini had an appointment with the headmaster. Could I borrow Mr. Potter?"

Slughorn nodded his assent, now brewing a quick antidote for Ron's feathers, and Harry stood up, wondering if he was in trouble. As he headed out the door with Snape, he glimpsed Zabini sitting down next to Malfoy. The blonde immediately began whispering furiously to Zabini, who looked apprehensive but not the least bit guilty.

"Professor, er…where am I going?" asked Harry, though really wanting to ask what Zabini had been doing with Dumbledore.

"The Headmaster has requested your presence in light of his earlier meeting with Mr. Zabini, Potter. Hurry up."

Harry was burning with questions and opened his mouth to speak, but shut it quickly at a look from Snape. Snape gave the password at Dumbledore's gargoyle and left Harry without another word. Dumbledore greeted Harry at his door with a weary smile.

"Harry, come in."

"Did you find something, Professor?" asked Harry before he could stop himself.

Dumbledore sighed. "In a way, perhaps I have. Sit down, Harry."

Harry sat, nonplussed.

"Mr. Zabini has just been to see me with some interesting facts concerning our friend Draco Malfoy."

Harry recalled the scene in Slughorn's classroom, and he sat up slightly. "Really, Professor? Like what?"

"Blaise tells me that Draco has been talking recently about an odd affliction which he has suffered since infancy. You'll find its symptoms most intriguing. Draco has told Blaise that he feels as though there is something dark and terrible trapped inside him. It strains to get out and plagues him with nightmares and screams only he can hear. Draco also says that it feels as though it is part of a whole and wants to rejoin others like it. And finally—I think you'll find this most interesting of all, Harry, as I believe you have suffered similarly—this feeling is worst when there is activity by Voldemort and his followers. The severities of the activity and the feeling are proportional."

Harry blinked. So this must have been why Malfoy was looking less than healthy; there had even been that raid on Scotland in the paper this morning. Harry wondered if Malfoy had known. He waited, but Dumbledore merely looked at him.

"Well," he said cautiously, "that's…er, very interesting, Professor. I dunno…it sounds like he's got some animal inside him or something."

Dumbledore nodded. "In a way, I believe he has. But before I elaborate, let's here more of your thoughts on the subject."

Harry frowned. "That last bit…it sounds like how my scar acts sometimes. Like a

warning or detector for dark things."

"Quite."

"And…what was that about…something like it feeling part of a whole?" Dumbledore was silent, and Harry didn't know what to say. "I…hm."

"I wonder," said Dumbledore, frowning slightly, "if you think that Draco's ailment sounds at all like the possible nature of something else we have discussed at length."

Harry blinked, incredulous. "Well…I mean, it crossed my mind…but you don't really think…a Horcrux?"

"Quite exactly my conjecture, Harry. I was going over our list of probable Horcruxes—"

"The cup, the locket, the snake, something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's."

"Precisely. I was wondering if perhaps we were wrong in thinking that Nagini, the snake, was one of our remaining four."

"Why's that, sir?"

"I thought that maybe Voldemort had thought of a better expression of his pureblood Slytherin roots than the serpent. What better to emphasize purity of blood than an actual pureblood? I wonder if Lucius did not agree to give his son to this purpose. Think about it, Harry—the supreme act of devotion, giving up one's first-born child. This loyalty is what Voldemort demands in a servant. So the Horcrux made would have served the dual purpose of signifying purity of blood and unswerving devotion to such."

"But why would Voldemort have told Lucius about the Horcruxes? I thought he was more…I dunno, paranoid about it."

"I have speculated for some time now that, in light of Lucius' actions with the diary Horcrux, Voldemort might have felt it was safer to open up a little more about it. However—" he added, holding up a hand as Harry opened his mouth to speak, "I do not imagine for a second that Voldemort would have explicitly told Lucius of his grand scheme involving the Horcruxes, and of Draco's involvement. I think he probably told Lucius something along the lines of that he wanted to instill Draco with a powerful dark magic designed to protect him, Voldemort, from attack, and that he would have to do it immediately after killing you. Especially if Draco was not yet born when Voldemort told Lucius this, I doubt Lucius would have said no. He would never have defied his master, and his paternal instincts weren't fully operational yet. So it is likely that Lucius was near Godric's Hollow the night Voldemort tried to kill you."

"So…well, he couldn't use me, so does that mean Malfoy's Horcrux was might have been made with one of my parents' deaths?"

"It is possible, yes. However, he might have been too weak to do it at the time. Lucius may have fled with his son upon learning that the Dark Lord had been destroyed. If these things were true, Voldemort is more apt to have used the death of Frank Bryce, the Muggle caretaker of the Riddle manner who was he murdered the summer before your fourth year."

"But it's _possible_, sir?"

"…It is, Harry," said Dumbledore hesitantly, looking concernedly at Harry's expression.

Harry stiffened, feeling somehow shaken by the news that a piece of Voldemort's soul not only resided within Malfoy, but that it was also perhaps created by the murder of his mother or father.

"Professor," asked Harry quietly, "does Malfoy know?"

"I do not know, Harry. This is difficult. I will speak with Draco and Professor Snape. I may also call you back. However, in the interim, put the matter from your mind. Remember, there are four others to worry about."

"Don't you mean three, sir?"

"I mean four, Harry. Do not forget that seventh piece of soul that still resides within Voldemort himself."

"Ah. Right. Er…"

"Thank you, Harry."

"Er, goodbye, Professor," said Harry awkwardly, rising to go.

"Goodbye, Harry."

As Harry closed the door, he glimpsed Dumbledore leaning over the Pensieve, wand to his temple.

_Harry's journal_

Malfoy? A horcrux? Merlin. Poor bloke. Well, I shouldn't say that. Because if he is one, I'll have to destroy him, won't I? Blimey. This could get interesting.

**A/N: **Oh, it will, Harry, never fear. Sorry this was boring, but I think it was necessary. I tried to stay as canon as possible (besides the whole Dumbledore and Snape thing… "), sorry if I made any errors. Thanks to Liz and Kät and a little Maddy for beta'ing! You guys OWN me. And yeah I know the whole scenario with the horcrux is a little sketchy, sorry. It's a stretch but I think it works out ok. It would work better if I didn't suck as much. Ah well.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Hooray for sexual tension and dialogue fueled by such! Man, Harry's such a dumbass, I love him. I don't think the existence of a Quidditch co-captain is strictly canon, but deal with it. Gold Digger is an excellent song. My author notes don't make much sense.

**Chapter 3**

Harry spent the next few days keeping his eye on Malfoy, who wasn't speaking to Blaise—Harry supposed that Malfoy, Dumbledore's biggest critic, wasn't too pleased about what the other boy had done.

Watching Malfoy, he appreciated for the first time that ancestry really did show in pureblood wizards. Malfoy just _looked _proud and pure. He had a strange ethereal appearance which Harry supposed came from the ancient wizarding roots of the Malfoy family. Malfoy was virtually flawless, but for the slightly sickly tinge he'd taken on recently, and the ghost of a sneer always playing around his slim mouth. It was fascinating. Harry found himself staring more and more as the days wore on since his meeting with Dumbledore.

On a fine Saturday almost a week later, Harry and Ron were walking through the entrance hall to the Quidditch Pitch. Tryouts for the Gryffindor team were that morning, and Harry had once again been named captain. He and Ron were just discussing who was likely to show up at the trial when Snape entered the hall from the door to the dungeons.

"Potter," he said coolly. "Come with me."

"Now, Professor?" Harry asked in alarm, glancing towards the front doors. "I've got Quidditch trials—"

"I believe Mr. Weasley is co-captain?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Then he can oversee the trials. The Headmaster wishes to speak with you. _Now_."

Harry looked at Ron, who raised an eyebrow curiously. Harry had been on the point of telling Ron and Hermione about his talk with Dumbledore, but something had held him back. He almost felt that it was a personal issue, and that even he was slightly violating Malfoy's privacy by knowing. He looked back at Snape hesitantly. Snape tapped his foot, looking strained and irritable. Harry shrugged at Ron.

"Sorry, mate. You can handle the try outs, can't you? I'll come down when I'm done."

"Whatever," said Ron, now looking between Snape and Harry with interest. "Er…what's—"

"Thank you ever so much, Mr. Weasley," growled Snape, and, seizing Harry's upper arm, marched him away. Ron stared after them for a moment, then shrugged resignedly and headed outside.

"Professor, is this about Mal—"

"_Yes_," hissed Snape, cutting him off, "and I'd thank you to remember the sensitive nature of what you are discussing. Draco is waiting in the Headmaster's office now."

"Does he…er, has Professor Dumbledore told him yet?"

"I presume he is doing so now. Ah."

They had reached Dumbledore's stone gargoyle. Snape gave the password and this time accompanied Harry up the spiraling stair. They knocked and entered.

Draco was sitting stiffly in a chair across from Dumbledore's desk. Draco leapt to his feet when Snape entered.

"I want to see my father."

"Draco," said Dumbledore, "please, at this time it is unwise to do—"

"I don't care, I—Potter." He had just noticed Harry standing beside Snape. Harry flushed as Malfoy glared. What was wrong with him?

"Malfoy," he responded softly.

"Draco, please, sit. Harry is here at my request. As I have explained, he plays an extremely important role in this unfortunate situation."

"Unfortunate? _Unfortunate?_" spat Malfoy. "Professor Snape, I—"

"Sit down, Draco," said Snape quietly.

Draco looked for a moment as though he was going to scream. But suddenly, all the color drained from his face and he sat, shaking, his head in his hands.

Harry couldn't contain himself. "Professor Dumbledore—is—isn't there anything we could—"

"Oh, and as if you care, Potter," snarled Draco, looking up with venom in his eyes. "It'll be up to you to kill me in the end, won't it? It's your job to destroy people—_things _like me." He was breathing hard.

"Malfoy, I never—I don't—I don't want to have to kill you. I don't want—even you—"

Draco let out a harsh laugh and looked away. Harry suddenly felt very aware of himself and the room. _What am I doing? _he thought in a panic. _My only role in this is that I have to kill Malfoy, I have to destroy all the Horcruxes, and Malfoy's one of them and he has to die._

"Professor Dumbledore—I don't—"

Dumbledore silenced him, holding up his hand. "Draco."

Draco did not look up. Dumbledore continued.

"Draco, there may be ways to extract it that would eliminate the need to, ah, the need for Harry to _destroy you_, as you say."

Draco looked up, perhaps shocked by Dumbledore's blatant manner about such a grim subject. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts, it seemed, and then:

"So why did Potter even have to come up here, then?" he asked, trying to make the question sound inconsequential, but the look in his eyes gave him away. They were full of a fierce combination of anger and…was it possible? Harry wondered, as he registered fear in the slightly bloodshot silver.

"I'm sorry," Harry said without thinking. Draco closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his face, breathing deeply.

"What are you apologizing for, Potter?"

"For…for being here…for what I—"

"For what you have to do? I'm sorry, Potter, but I find it hard to accept that apology."

"Look, Malfoy," Harry began, getting angry. How could Malfoy think for a second that Harry wasn't sorry and scared for what his—their—futures might hold? But Dumbledore cut him off.

"Harry, Draco, please. I realize now that this joint meeting was a mistake. Obviously in the present situation it will be difficult to ask an immediate understanding between the two of you. But I do unfortunately have to ask that you cooperate with Professor Snape and I and do not argue or ask unnecessary questions or make unreasonable requests."

Draco looked the way Harry felt, furious and terrified at the same time. Dumbledore sighed.

"Professor Snape, perhaps it is best if you escort Harry and Draco back downstairs. Boys—I'm sorry for having done this to you. It was foolish. But I'm afraid we're not done yet. I will speak to both of you at a later date. Thank you."

Snape nodded and beckoned to the two boys. They followed him out without a word, not looking at each other.

Snape left them in the entrance hall with a cautioning glare. Draco stood there, now slightly in shock. Harry's mind felt oddly blank. He remembered vaguely that he was supposed to be at Quidditch trials and began to wander towards the front doors.

"Where are you going, Potter?"

"I've got Quidditch trials. I'm captain."

"Oh." Draco looked around, sighed, then turned to follow Harry. "I'm coming. Nothing better to do."

"OK."

They seemed to have reached some sort of unspoken agreement not to discuss what had just happened. Harry shot Draco a furtive look as they walked toward the pitch. He looked strangely at peace, as though something had finally happened that he'd been waiting for for a long time.

"How…er, Malfoy."

"Yeah."

"How does it, er, feel?"

Draco sighed.

"It's a sort of weight, you know? Like when you're nervous or you've just been let down…that kind of thing. But…different. It's….it's…not very nice." His face crumpled and he turned away, looking angry. Harry was immediately sorry he asked.

"S'okay," he said quietly.

Draco sighed and composed himself. "Yeah. But I guess it's good to finally know what it is." He stared at his shoes, looking like he wished he were anywhere else. Harry realized that he had just had his first-ever civil conversation with Malfoy. He looked down, too.

The stands were empty. The trials must have ended already. Harry hesitated, half-formed ideas floating vaguely around his mind.

"…Sit with me," he said to Draco suddenly.

"What?"

"Sit."

"_Hey_?"

"I just wanted to…" But he didn't finish the sentence, because he wasn't quite sure where he was going with it.

"What are you on about, Potter?"

Harry suddenly realized what he was doing and kept his mouth tight shut.

Draco sat. "So...what did you want again?"

Harry fidgeted with a hole in his robes.

"I just wanted…to talk."

"Well." Draco blinked. Harry flushed. Draco appeared to be thinking hard for a second, then suddenly turned to face Harry, frowning.

"_What?_" he asked again.

"I'm not quite sure."

"Oh."

Harry felt extraordinarily stupid. What the fuck had he brought Malfoy to sit with him for? What was he planning on talking about? What was he planning on _doing_?

"I'm…er, gonna go," said Draco cautiously, as though Harry might spring at him.

"Yeah," said Harry hoarsely.

Draco stood and walked away. And for all the strangeness and comedy of the preceding situation, he didn't look any more lighthearted.

Harry didn't know quite what had just happened.

_Harry's journal_

Malfoy's a horcrux…and what the _fuck_ am I doing.

I pick the worst times to have life-changing realizations.

Like the fact that Malfoy's really, really good-looking.

Shit.

_Draco's journal_

I have no idea what went on today.

I've got a bit of the Dark Lord's soul inside me and my father let it happen.

Blaise and I aren't speaking.

And was Potter coming on to me?

Shit.

**A/N: **Haha, Microsoft Word thinks "Draco" is "Dario" or "Darcy." Hey, that's Colin Firth. Dumb dumb dumb. Oh man, could that conversation up there have been any more ridiculous. I couldn't end it, it was too awkward to pass up. This needs to make up its mind between angsty and fluffy, though. It'll probably settle on angsty in the end. Sigh.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: So originally this plot was going to be generally angsty. But as I'm writing it it's coming out funny. I wish it would stop because I feel like I'm going to get to a certain point in the plot and all of a sudden it'll become sad. Well, for now I guess this will just do whatever it's going to do. I posted the first chapter earlier today and I've already gotten as many hits as my first story has. Huh. Now that it's posted, I should probably figure out how this is going to end at some point. Oog. Beta: Courtney and some other people. Wooooooooooo o o o o.

**Chapter 4**

The next few days after Harry and Draco's little chat passed without great incident. Draco noticed, however, that Harry was acting extremely odd. At least once a day and usually more, Draco would look around to see Harry staring intently at him. As soon as they made eye contact, Harry would blush furiously and look away. Draco was very disconcerted, especially because this was coming—his stomach flipped over every time he thought this—from the boy whose sole mission in life was to destroy Horcruxes...to destroy Draco.

Walking back from Potions a little ahead of Harry on a day nearly a week after they had last spoken, Draco decided it was time for more direct intervention. He ducked into an empty classroom and aimed a jinx at Harry's bag.

He missed, but what happened was better than the bag splitting. Harry stumbled and looked down to find a split up the side of his trousers, running from hem to above his knee. Draco grinned as he spied a flash of snitch-patterned boxers before Harry whipped his robes straight to cover the offending pant leg. It felt strange to smile; Draco hadn't had much cause to do it in the past few weeks, and it came out as more of a slightly amused grimace.

Harry sighed, very flushed. "Go on," he told Ron and Hermione, who had been walking with him and were both chuckling discreetly. Just as Draco had hoped, Harry slouched into his empty room.

"Potter," Draco began purposefully, stepping into view.

Harry jumped about three feet and pulled his robes tighter around him. "Malfoy!" he yelped. "Don't..._do_ that."

"Potter, this madness must stop."

"What madness must stop?"

"You have to stop staring at me. It's strange and irritating and rather counter-productive, I think."

Harry was so red Draco was surprised he wasn't smoking. "How d'you mean, counter-productive?" he asked, sounding unconvincingly casual.

Draco tried to keep his voice level as he said, "You have to kill me in the end, remember, Potter?"

"I don't want to kill you," muttered Harry, looking at the floor.

"Yes, you've made that quite plain. I do so appreciate it," said Draco, with a touch of a sneer.

Harry blushed harder. "I'm sorry...it's just...I never, er, noticed—"

Draco smirked. "How devilishly attractive I am?"

Harry was now faintly green. "Maybe."

Draco almost laughed. "Get out of here, Potter."

"Gladly," muttered Harry, looking anywhere but at Draco.

"Don't forget to mend your trousers!" called Draco as Harry hurried away. Chuckling grimly, he gathered his things and set off for lunch.

_Draco's journal_

Potter's finally stopped staring at me. Quite the opposite, actually. We never make eye contact any more. He doesn't speak to me or look at me, and if he sees me in the hallway, he runs away.

It's funny, but now that he's stopped, I realize just how much I liked him staring at me.

It was a lot, I think.

So, Merlin, I'm bloody strange. What am I? A pouf with a bit of the Dark Lord's soul inside me? That's got to be some sort of record.

I sincerely hope I'm not a pouf, though.

Because if I am, that means it's for Potter. And that's the last thing I need right now.

_Harry's journal_

Merlin! What the fuck am I doing! Bad Harry. Down, boy.

I can't take much more of this. Maybe I'll just...go...for...it? No! What am I saying? Go for _what_? I can't...it's _Malfoy, _Harry. Get a grip.

...fuck.

Harry and Draco continued to be extremely awkward around each other for the next week or so. Draco continued to have nightmares and hear screaming and wake up with his insides aching. Harry continued to worry about the various things that lay in store for him. These included the prospect of what he might say or do to Draco the next time they were alone together, and the prospect of perhaps having to kill Draco in the not-too-distant future.

This new private pattern of life was strange, but publicly, things were the same as ever. Draco was snide and pale, and Harry was awkward and desperately trying to ignore Draco.

It wasn't working.

"Look, Malfoy," he said, pulling Draco aside as they exited a Potions lesson, "can you...er..."

Draco tapped his foot, sneering, though his heart was really pounding.

Harry was crimson.

"Spit it out, Potter."

"Can you...um, can you meet me...um, somewhere? In the entrance hall? Tonight?"

Draco stared.

"I'm not sure that would be in my best interests, Potter."

"No, no, it would!" said Harry, sounding a little panicky. "I...er, remember that...er, talk I wanted to have the other day? In the Quidditch stands?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Do I ever."

Harry continued cautiously, "Well, I've...er...pulled myself together a little more—"

"That remains to be seen."

Harry ignored him. "—and I...er...we should talk," he finished lamely.

Draco pretended to think it over. "Well...fine. But no wands."

"No! Of course not! I don't want—"

Draco glared. "Fuck off, Potter. I'll see you in the entrance hall at nine."

That night, Harry hovered nervously in the entrance hall, draped in the Invisibility Cloak. It was five minutes to nine. Harry's leg jiggled uncontrollably. His eyes were fixed on the door to the dungeon, from whence Draco would hopefully be exiting in five minutes' time.

At nine o'clock sharp, Draco stepped out from the dungeon corridor. He looked around cautiously, his wand secretly clutched inside his cloak.

"Potter?" he said softly.

"Um...hi," said Harry awkwardly. _He looks good. I mean, what? _thought Harry stupidly.

Draco blinked.

"Er...do you want to go outside?"

Silence.

"I just thought that maybe we'd do better to have our...er, discussion, somewhere more...er, private."

Draco swallowed dryly. "Very well. Er, shall we?" _Dammit! Now is not the time to stutter, Draco!_

They walked out into the grounds without speaking, and sat down in the stands.

"So," said Harry. "Er...how...er, how are you?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Sorry."

There was another tense silence.

"Potter, why did you drag me out here?"

Harry didn't answer for a second. He collected himself and took a deep breath.

"Malfoy, there's something I really want you to know. I honestly never would have wished this. On anyone. I don't want anybody to get hurt and it kills me that it has to be...you."

_Shit, _thought Harry wildly. _I did not just say that._

Draco, apparently, had not noticed this slight slip of Harry's tongue. He was immediately incensed at the repetition of what he perceived as an empty apology. "Don't give me that righteous bullshit, Potter. We all know you only care about your...your _quest_—" he placed a delicate sarcasm on the word—"and all that other garbage. You don't give a damn," he spat, turning away.

_Oh no, _thought Harry. _Why do I keep doing this, it just makes him angry. Well, don't just sit there, dammit, say something! Say something...er, comforting!. _

"Malfoy, I swear, I don't want anybody to get hurt. It's not my fault," Harry stammered.

"I didn't say it was your god damn fault, Potter!" growled Draco, his hands balled into fists.

"I didn't ask for this," whispered Harry, eyes locked on Draco.

Draco went suddenly pale. He turned slowly to face Harry, who drew back instinctively.

"You know what, Potter? Go to hell. Fuck you and your righteousness, your holy mission, your bloody saintly guilt. I don't need you. It doesn't matter in the end." He stood up and began to stride away off the Quidditch pitch, very white, shaking slightly.

Harry watched him walk away, desperate, not wanting him to go. Not like this. He did the only thing he could think of to regain Draco's attention.

"Draco!" he called desperately, darting after the other boy.

Draco froze, halfway across the grounds. _Draco? Not Malfoy? Just...Draco?_

Harry ran to him. "Draco," he said again, having reached his quarry. Draco didn't turn, but stood motionless, not quivering or indeed doing anything. He seemed to be holding his breath.

Harry grabbed Draco and spun him around to face him.

"Oh, fuck," groaned Draco, right before Harry kissed him.

It was probably years before Draco pulled away, once again pale and trembling.

"No," he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes," whispered Harry back, pulling him close again.

"_Potter_."

"Harry."

"What?"

"Call me Harry. _Mmm_."

"Oh."

"...Malfoy?"

A moan.

"_Can_ I call you Draco?"

"Shut up."

**A/N: **I hate Broadcast so god damn much, god dammit. And I've been watching too much god damn Kyou Kara Maou and now I keep wanting to say "kso" instead of "damn" or whatever. So don't blame me if Harry or Draco start talking in Japanese. Feh, I'm sick sick sick, I hate being sick, why am I doing this, I could be making my Broadcast paper not as ridiculously terrible. Oh dear god. Where in the world is MATT LAUER! I fucking hate Matt Lauer. Go to hell, Matt Lauer! I really, really wish I made more sense. I suppose writing fanfiction in a feverish state isn't necessarily the best idea. Oh jesus. I shall attempt to update more consistently, I apologize. AND! I must desperately thank just-human, a reviewer who gave me (gasp) an idea for a plot! Helps to have one of those. Yeah, so thank you so much, just-human, you own me. Best idea everrr. Dear god, I really want to go to bed. It's not even nine. SO SICK, JESUS. Aaaah ok so we're getting there on the whole plot thing, by the way. Thanks to Kät and Liz and Maddy and Courtney and others and I'm not killing Ron, Maddy, at least not...no no shut up. And I'm not killing Draco, Courtney, well not really, and shut up, bed bed now shut up goodbye.


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: I SUCK AT HAVING DISCLAIMERS IN THE FIRST CHAPTER, SORRY. NONE OF THIS IS MINE, SADLY. I'M NOT MAKING ANY MONEY OFF THIS, ETC. SERIOUSLY I OWN NOTHING IN THIS LIFE EXCEPT MAYBE LIKE A FEW CDS. AND CERTAINLY NOT THESE CHARACTERS OR PLOTS. THANK YOU. **

**A/N: **I would also like to apologize for anything I may have said in that last author note. I was not in a proper state of mental health or sleep at the time. OK so this is a pretty lame chapter to post after almost 6 weeks' absence, I know. But first holidays happened, then school happened, then exams happened, and now second semester is starting again so I really don't have any work yet, so I figured I finally finish this. I shouldn't make excuses though, sorry this took so god damn long. But after they finally hooked up or whatever they did—make out, I suppose—I wasn't really sure where to go. Because I can't just dive into the darker part of the plot, that would be silly. So this is a Blaise chapter! Yay Blaise. Also it is a Harry-is-stupid-and-it's-fun-to-write-him-making-a-complete-ass-of-himself chapter. Woohoo. Beta'd by the very lovely Courtney (id: deppinthought) and Liz (id: lizterine. She has a really, really good fic on there, Veniam Dare, that got x-posted on Schnoogle. I beta'd it. It's really good, read it. Go Liz!) I'm also sorry that my author notes are so long. Thanks for the reviews and 1000+ hits! And I'm always happy to get more! ...carry on then.

**Chapter 5**

Harry and Draco didn't speak about that night on the Quidditch pitch afterwards. In fact, for either to speak at all to the other would have been a miracle; to look at each other would have been pushing it. It wasn't so much that they were embarrassed, though that was true enough. It was more that they were afraid of what might happen were they to come in contact.

"Harry? You still with me?"

Harry jumped, startled from a distant realm in which he was quite alone with Draco, and both were quite unclothed. "Her—Hermione—what?"

"You alright there? You looked like you were somewhere else..." said Hermione, looking mildly concerned.

"No, no...I'm fine," said Harry determinedly. "Never been better. What are we doing, then?"

"We're walking, Harry."

"Oh, right. Lunch?"

"Dinner. Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"No. I mean yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just...yes." _Deep breaths, Harry_, he thought, looking anywhere but at the Slytherin table as they entered the Great Hall.

"Right," said Hermione, obviously deciding not to inquire further.

"Where's Ron got to, then?" asked Harry vaguely, trying to distract himself from the blond head bent over its supper across the Hall.

"Harry, he's right there, he's talking to Seamus."

"Oh. Good for him, then," said Harry, pulling a dish toward him, though not remotely hungry.

Hermione continued to shoot him slightly alarmed, worried glances throughout dinner. Harry couldn't imagine why.

"Say _something_, Draco, please. Honestly, I've only been talking _at_ you since Potions."

Draco ignored Blaise's irritation, glaring morosely down at his beef stew and thinking longingly of the past several days when the two of them had not been speaking. He imagined he could feel Harry's eyes burning a hole in the top of his head, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Blaise huffed angrily and picked up his fork, but dropped it with a clatter just as quickly.

"Draco, you're hiding something."

"Blaise, what else is there to tell? I've already explained about Ha—Potter and the whole bit with the Dark Lord, and—"

"That's not what I mean and you bloody well know it."

Draco determinedly avoided Blaise's eyes, uncomfortably aware that the other boy had an uncanny knack for seeing right through flimsy façades.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he drawled to his plate.

"Don't try to deny it, I can tell. The two of you in Potions..." he shuddered in disgust.

"I haven't got a clue what you're on about," grumbled Draco stubbornly, though his heart was pounding. Had they been that obvious?

Blaise leaned forward across the table and hissed angrily, "You...you and..and _him_, Draco!" He jerked his head towards the Gryffindor table.

Draco finally looked up, hands balled into fists under the table. "The two of us _what_, exactly?" he shot back, privately hoping very much that he wouldn't get an answer.

"Well, you're not exactly subtle," sneered Blaise. "Staring at each other but never making eye contact...blushing when you're near each other—there! You're doing it! I don't believe this."

Draco was indeed a little pink. Furious with himself for showing weakness and with Blaise for bringing the whole sordid affair up in the first place, he took an angry swig of pumpkin juice.

"You stay the hell out of it," he snarled.

He expected Blaise to argue back, to laugh at him, maybe even to hit him. What he did not expect was for Blaise to draw back suddenly and inexplicably, looking stung. There was an extraordinarily awkward pause.

Draco didn't know quite what to say next. He and Blaise had been close since infancy. They rarely fought, and when they did, it was serious. And now it was becoming increasingly clear to Draco what this was about. He flushed deeper still, but leaned quietly across to Blaise and glanced around.

"Blaise...look, I'm...I'm really sorry...I didn't—that is to say, if you had—" Draco faltered and trailed off.

Blaise got up from the table without a word and stalked off toward the entrance hall. Draco saw Harry's slightly concerned gaze follow him. Draco guessed that Harry had come to the same arresting realization that he had, but he wasn't quite sure what Blaise wanted him to do about it.

Draco returned to his stew, frowning. So, Blaise had wanted to be more than close friends. That explained his protectiveness, his desire to help Draco at all costs, his constant concern and worry at Draco's expense. Draco felt an unexpected rush of gratitude toward these well-meaning gestures, and an even more unexpected rush of guilt that he had not fully appreciated them before.

_I'm such an arse_, he cursed mentally. _All this time, and he never said a word. Poor Blaise._

Draco blinked and shook himself out of his very un-Malfoy-ish thoughts. He finished his dinner and trudged off to bed. Thankfully, Blaise was already sleeping, or pretending to be, when Draco came in from the common room.

Sighing at the other boy's closed curtains, Draco climbed into bed, drew his own hangings shut and pulled out bound parchment and quill from under the mattress in the headboard.

(Draco's journal)

_So, Blaise...Blaise. Well. Looking back, I really should have known. He was so nice all the time. Nice in an overstepping the boundaries sort of way. Like talking to Dumbledore for my sake. That could only have been out of...I don't even know what. But it wasn't a very Slytherin thing to do._

_Well, now I know. The question is, what do I do about it?_

_I...well, care about Blaise. I really do. And how could I not? We were raised together. We're like brothers._

_But as for him...not your average brotherly affection. I can't honestly say I feel the same. And I hate to say that, because I know he would be really sad to hear it, but...well, there's Harry now._

_Harry. This whole thing is a mystery. Did I really do...that? Snog Harry Potter? Me? I reckon I did. And it's in the past now...although I would rather like it to be present and future, too. But do I actually love Harry? Is it lust or is it like what Blaise seems to have for me? Because I hate to leave Blaise out in the cold, but I rather liked making out with Harry, loathed as I am to say it. Liked it in a "he's hot, why wouldn't I?" sort of way. But nothing...emotional. Or...no. Of course not._

_We'll see, I suppose. Damn. _

Draco put down his quill and stowed it in its box beneath the mattress. His mind buzzed with the questions he had just penned. Much as he would have liked to have tried further to answer them, a rather more pressing matter required his immediate attention.

Sighing resignedly, Draco had a good long wank and slipped into a restless sleep.

Several floors and flights of stairs above Draco, Harry lay on his side in bed, panting slightly and wiping his hand on the sheets. He rolled onto his back, away from the damp patch he had made, and stared up at the underside of his canopy, arms spread, unblinking.

He couldn't get Draco out of his thoughts. He had thought some good old-fashioned wanking would do the trick, but apparently he was not to be so lucky. His mind raced back and forth, like a tennis rally. A stupid, horny tennis rally.

_Forget about him! _

_But he's so _hot...

_It was a one-time thing!_

_I could learn to like him if I could do that again._

_It shouldn't have happened in the first place. He's a Slytherin, you're a Gryffindor. You're Harry Potter, he's Draco Malfoy._

_That shouldn't matter._

_He's a Horcrux! You have to kill him! Don't make this harder than it needs to be._

_But...I...he..._

But the retorting side of him couldn't come up with a good response to that one. He let out a frustrated sigh and flipped over onto his stomach, clenching his pillow angrily. It was true. Draco was a Malfoy, a Slytherin and a Horcrux. Harry was everything Draco was not. Draco was everything Harry stood against.

_It could never work_, said the reasonable side of him plaintively.

"Dammit, but I wish it could," he murmured in a hoarse whisper.

He swallowed, rolled onto his side again and fell asleep to fantasies of himself and Draco that slipped into troubled dreams of Voldemort and torn souls.

The next morning, Harry and Draco each awoke with difficulty, not having slept well at all, dressed sleepily and traipsed down to the Great Hall with their respective parties. They entered at exactly the same time.

"Ouch!" yelped Hermione, as Harry walked into her.

"Sorry, Ron," he muttered vaguely, his eyes glued to Draco. It was the first time they had been in such close proximity since...well, since they had made out on the Quidditch pitch, Harry sheepishly admitted to himself. But now here Draco was, close enough to touch...

Draco looked up, met Harry's gaze for a seemingly eternal second, then flushed and turned angrily away in a flurry of robes, practically jogging off to the Slytherin table. Blaise spared Harry one withering glare and stomped after Draco.

Harry swallowed dryly and strode, more confidently than he felt, into the Hall ahead of Ron and Hermione. He ignored their mutterings about him and wolfed down a bowl of porridge and sprinted off to the library without a backward glance at his friends, his enemies or anybody in between.

Ron and Hermione watched perplexedly as Harry went. Draco glowered around at anybody who dared look at him, snuck a quick, decisive glance at Harry's departing arse and got up to leave without eating. Blaise watched the whole proceeding sulkily, and his eyes followed Draco's retreating back out with a deadly glare.

Out in the Entrance Hall, Draco stared around. He caught sight of a red and gold-striped tie whipping out of sight around the corner of a corridor, and followed at a reluctant jog.

He caught up with Harry four empty classrooms later. The passage was deserted. Before Harry could do or say anything, Draco had seized him roughly by the shoulders and slammed him up against the wall in an angry kiss. Harry, shocked, numbly reciprocated, but within moments it occurred to both what they were doing and where they were doing it, and they broke apart.

Not to be denied, Draco grabbed Harry's tie and pulled him into the nearest vacant classroom, banging the door shut. Harry seemed about to say something, but Draco pressed a finger to Harry's slightly swollen lips and pushed him down on a desk, unbuttoning Harry's shirt as they kissed fiercely again. Harry's hands twined around the back of Draco's neck and into his hair, clutching helplessly as Draco's lips moved hungrily down his neck.

It took them five minutes to get the thing over and done with, and afterwards Harry was able to add a hand job to his very short sexual resume.

**A/N**: Tuh. I will try to update in a more reasonable time henceforth. I am very sorry. Reviews are accepted with great joy! I loves t3h reviews. And I love you! Huzzah! It's Julie Andrews! And she's on FIRE!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: Two things have come to my attention. One, I realized that I've sort of strayed from the whole horcrux thing. That's coming back in this chapter, though. Two, I've also realized that I don't take this very seriously, which would probably explain these author notes. I thought you should know in case you...I don't even know what I thought, actually. Sorry. Also I really, really like the word traipse, and sorry if my British spellings offend anybody, with me not being British and all. Beta'd by the lovely Maddy (magnumzero), Courtney (deppingthought) and Liz (lizterine).

**Chapter 6**

There had been a time when it had seemed to Harry as though Draco was everywhere around him.

But just like that, he seemed to be gone.

More and more, Draco seemed to be absent from lessons. At first, it wasn't that noticeable, at least not to anybody but Harry and Blaise, but as the weeks past, he was missed. Frequently, in lessons, in corridors and at mealtimes, Professor Snape or Professor Dumbledore took Draco away with them. The boy was growing alarmingly pale, even by his usual standard. His skin was taking on a grayish, diseased-looking tinge. He was becoming more and more emaciated as the days past, and he rarely spoke or looked at anybody, least of all Harry.

Once, Harry might have attributed this lack of contact to the awkward aftermath of a secret rendezvous in an abandoned classroom, a broom cupboard or under the Quidditch stands. But he didn't think so now, somehow. Harry hadn't been in very much contact with Draco in what seemed like months. Draco looked truly ill, and as though he hadn't slept properly in weeks.

Which, Harry reflected sadly, he probably hadn't.

One rainy Thursday afternoon, Harry entered a Defence Against the Dark Arts class only to be sent back out the door by an exhausted-looking Snape.

"The headmaster would like to see you, Potter," he said pointedly, before directing Harry out of the classroom.

Harry, perplexed and not a little worried, traipsed up to Dumbledore's office. He arrived at the gargoyle, then realized with a pang of annoyance at Snape that he hadn't been told the password. He stood there stupidly, wondering what to do next, and was just about to fall back on his time-honored tradition of shouting random candies at the statue when Dumbledore came striding wearily around the corner—where the Hospital Wing was, Harry noted.

Dumbledore smiled in a rather forced way. "Ah, Harry. I am so sorry to have kept you waiting. Please—"

He gave the password—ice mice—and Harry followed him up the spiral staircase.

"Do sit down, Harry."

Harry sat, feeling definitely anxious now. Dumbledore, just like Snape and slightly less than Draco, was looking tired and unusually grave.

Harry swallowed. "Professor," he said nervously before the headmaster could speak, "does this have anything, er, anything to do with Dra—er, Malfoy?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I'm afraid so, Harry."

"Afraid, sir?" asked Harry with some trepidation.

"In the interim between our realization of Draco's Horcrux and now, Professor Snape and I have been taking certain, ah, measures to discover how we might rid Draco of it safely and easily."

"And?" asked Harry, perhaps a little too eagerly. He was desperate to hear Dumbledore say something, anything, which might ease the terrible guilt he had felt about Draco's potential fate since the two of them had begun their sordid affair.

"Harry...I'm so sorry, Harry, I truly am. I know that you must feel somewhat responsible, both for Draco's condition and its possible consequences—"

And here, Harry had a fleeting thought that Dumbledore _knew_. He put it hastily out of his mind, dreading what he might hear next.

"—but the conclusion at which Professor Snape and I have arrived is not something that you will likely be happy to hear."

Harry's insides went cold.

"We think that Draco's horcrux will, by the sheer concentration of its evil power, begin to dominate Draco entirely. Not only in nightmares, dreams and voices in his head, but in his very own soul and even aspects of his physical appearance. Draco will, in time, cease to truly be the Draco we all know and love—" Harry gave a tiny, involuntary shiver—"and will become something like Voldemort himself. He will certainly carry the voice, the personality, the cunning, perhaps even the visage."

Dumbledore paused here, looking concerned, but Harry had lost his voice. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He felt as though something was speeding towards him, some awful, inescapable fate.

"And...it is then that we will be able to destroy the Horcrux."

"How, sir?" rasped Harry, although he did not even remotely want to hear the answer.

"The only way is to kill he who carries the soul which has become dominant. To kill...Draco."

Harry was falling. His field of vision was narrowing. He was tumbling into cold darkness. He was dying—

—and then all was clear.

"So when Voldemort's soul becomes dominant over Draco's, killing Draco will kill that soul. The Horcrux."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, looking anxiously at Harry, who realized he must be very pale.

"I see, sir. So, we just wait for Draco to start acting...off...then...I kill him."

"Simply put, yes."

"Alright, sir." Harry was numb, his voice and face emotionless.

"Well, Harry, I suppose you had better be getting back to Professor Snape's class. I will be in contact as events warrant."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Harry got up and left the office, feeling Dumbledore's eyes on his back as he closed the door. But he didn't go back to Snape's class. On a hunch, he wandered up to the Hospital Wing, from whence he suspected Dumbledore had come.

Draco was there, as Harry had known he would be, lying near the window in a bed with the curtains half-shut. Harry, grateful for the apparent absence of Madame Pomfrey, pulled a chair up to Draco's bedside and studied his face in greater detail.

He looked terrible. He was pale as death, and his eyes were purple with exhaustion, closed but moving rapidly beneath their thin lids. He was thin and spotted with faint bruises, where he had thrashed around in his sleep.

Harry sat by the bed until the dinner bell rang, but Draco did not wake up or indeed do anything except for emitting a few low, almost indiscernible murmurs. Although Harry couldn't make out what was actually being said, he realized that Draco was speaking in Parseltongue, and that it sounded ominously triumphant.

Harry got up to go to dinner, not for the sake of food but because he knew he would be missed in such troubled times. He glanced back at Draco, and reached out reflexively to smooth his hair off his pallid forehead.

As Harry's hand neared his face, Draco's face contorted. With a harsh hiss, his hand shot out, fingers curled like claws. Harry, startled, snatched his own hand back just before Draco seized his wrist. Shaken and unduly hurt, he hurried away.

Draco was dreaming in red.

He saw out of eyes like a cat's, and the world was stained scarlet. His movements were smooth and silent. He stalked through what had once been a bustling city square, and was now a desecrated wasteland.

He surveyed, from those red-tinted cat eyes, clear evidence of a battle. His lips twisted into an evil smile, more a ghostly leer than anything resembling happiness. Words of victory snaked out from between his lips in barely audible hisses as he saw the bodies of Aurors and countless Muggles, innocent men, women and children who had been out for a stroll in the park when his Death Eaters had struck. Now, with nothing left but bodies and a scorched stretch of lawn and pavement that the Ministry had not yet had time to clear, Voldemort was free to walk and enjoy the carnage his strike had created.

From somewhere else, somewhere above, he felt an unexpected presence, an intruder. It radiated a fierce, desperate emotion that burned his skin. His eyes narrowed and his face twisted into a snarl. He thrust his hand upward with a cruel Parseltongue cry, trying to seize the offender.

But there was nothing but an empty space where his hand groped.

Denied but unshaken, Voldemort let his hand drop stepped forward between the bodies of a small Muggle girl and a Ministry wizard. For a brief instant, everything went pitch black—

—and then Draco sat up, sweating and shaking, in a bed miles from the battleground he had just departed in his dream.

Draco sat frozen with fear, trembling, his eyes wide open. He didn't want to close them again, for fear of seeing something else out of those bloody slits.

He retched dryly into a basin next to his bed, then sat suddenly back against his damp pillows, pressing his hands to his face, sobbing uncontrollably.

_The Dark Lord. Voldemort. I was laughing__—__Those people—they were dead, they were all dead—I was Voldemort—_

Dizzy with shock and terror, he looked around wildly. There was nothing there but an empty chair.

Draco knew, without knowing how or why he knew it, that Harry had just been sitting in it, and that it had been Harry's strange invisible presence whose concern and emotion had seared his skin. _And_, he thought with most uncharacteristic fear, _if he—if _I_ had grabbed his wrist just then—_

But he didn't want to finish the thought. He didn't even know what would have happened. He didn't want to think about it.

He stared at his hands, so pale and clammy, and tried not to imagine them as the long, spidery monstrosities they had just been. He was still gazing unseeingly at them, trembling, when Madame Pomfrey came hurrying apologetically out of her office with a tray full of foul-looking Potions.

She didn't look him in the eye while she poured the proper doses out for him, afraid of the scarlet she had sometimes glimpsed glaring incongruously back at her.

**A/N**: So this one was a lot darker...maybe I'm getting back out of the fluffier funny style. Why don't I just make up my god damn mind? Ah well. Reviews please! I'm interested to see what y'all think of this compared to all the other ones...it's pretty inconsistent, I know. And also Draco is somewhat OOC, sorry about that too. Kthxbye.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**: sd;gadfgl. There I got again, taking many times. I stopped like right in the middle and came back like 3 weeks later. Well, here we are, then. Sorry this changed tone so abruptly, I figured it was time to stop beating around the bush and get to the plot. Honestly. And I suppose I should mention again that a great deal of credit for the idea behind said plot goes to reviewer just-human. You're awesome, I wish I could think of ideas that good on my own. Thanks to all the reviewerz, while I'm at it. . Also thanks to the many betaz, who consist of Maddy (magnumzero), Liz (lizterine) and Courtney (deppinthought). And Lauren (hat-n-clogs) a little, I suppose. Oh and this one is inexplicably a lot longer than all the others. Like 3000 words compared to like 1500. Awesome.

**Chapter 7**

Two weeks after Harry's meeting with Dumbledore, Draco reappeared in a Potions lesson, the last class of the day. His eyes were reddish, Harry noticed, shivering slightly as he realized that it wasn't just from lack of sleep. Blaise, seeming to forget that his relationship with Draco was on the rocks, leaned over and murmured in the other boy's ear. Draco shook his head dully, looking as though he would have liked nothing better than to lay his head down on the desk and sleep forever.

Blaise straightened up, watching Draco with great concern and badly hidden longing. Harry, doing the same, noticed that Draco had developed a disturbing sort of tick in the corner of his mouth. It bothered Harry greatly, and he wanted very much to stop it. He thought wryly that he could kiss Draco—hard—and kill two birds with one stone. Blaise glanced up and saw Harry staring. He looked murderous, and Harry knew Blaise blamed him for all of Draco's troubles.

As Slughorn bustled about, writing up ingredients and instructions, Draco's head slipped off his hand where he had rested it. His eyes slid half-closed...

_He was in a forest, running silently, a bright light just ahead. He followed the light, pained by a stitch in his side but still moving. He had to reach that light—_

Draco panted slightly and touched a hand to his side in apparent pain. Slughorn was speaking now, but Draco did not snap out of his dream, or whatever it was.

"We're brewing a potion for stress today, and you will require lavender, which isn't something most of you..."

_The light was coming from a clearing. There was a powerful enemy there, an enemy he had to destroy._

"...an ample supply in the store-cupboard. Instructions are on the board. This is a highly complex ..."

_The old man was bent over a shallow pool that glowed with swirling water. An ancient, bearded centaur stood beside him, and they murmured together about things only they could see in the pool. Old magic. This was a powerful place. The perfect place to kill him. Voldemort moved forward._

"...approximately one hour to brew it. You may..."

_The old centaur suddenly straightened up, looking around. He opened his mouth to give a warning, but too late. With a silent flick of Voldemort's wand, he fell to the ground, dead, his quiver of arrows spilling around him. Dumbledore stood swiftly and turned, drawing his wand in a smooth stroke. He sidestepped Voldemort's _avada kedavra_ and fired a hex of his own, which ricocheted off a tree and hit the pool. It sunk into it, leaving no ripple, or indeed any trace at all save a slight increase in the glow of the water. They both stared at the pool for a split second, then looked back at each other, tensed and ready for attack or evasion. As they faced each other, unmoving, Dumbledore's face softened almost undetectably for the briefest moment, and then—_

Draco's face contorted. His eyes rolled beneath their half-closed lids, and his hands twitched convulsively. He jerked in his seat. He let out a little gasp and slumped forward onto the desk, shuddering.

The room was still for a second. Everybody stared at Draco. Then Pansy Parkinson screamed, shattering the silence. Frightened talk broke out. People near Draco moved away, but Harry stood up, panicked. Blaise hurried up to Professor Slughorn, who was looking alarmed. Harry heard him say that Draco needed the Hospital Wing, and that he, Blaise, needed to tell Dumbledore what had happened. Slughorn, seemingly too confused to ask after Blaise's statements, beckoned to Harry.

"Harry, Blaise tells me that Draco needs to be taken to the Hospital Wing. Would you be so kind as to, ah, help him? And—ah, Miss Greengrass—" he pointed at Queenie, who was talking fearfully to Pansy—"would you be so kind as to go to Professor Dumbledore—ah, but he's not here, is he—Professor Snape, then. Go to his office and tell him that Draco has collapsed. Tell him to go to the Hospital Wing. Thank you. Boys..."

He looked quite at a loss for what to do next. Harry and Blaise walked silently to Draco, avoiding each others' eyes like the plague, and slung one of his arms over each of their shoulders. They lifted his legs and carried him quickly out of the room, followed by Queenie. A shrewd-looking Hermione held the door open for them.

As Blaise and Harry silently carried Draco up the hall, they began to struggle to match each others' paces and hold their cargo steadily.

"This isn't working. I can't levitate him, can you?" Harry shook his head hesitantly, thinking of the _Levicorpus _spell.

"I'll carry him, then," said Blaise gruffly. They stopped, and Harry hoisted Draco onto Blaise's back. Blaise bent over slightly and settled back into as quick a stride as he could manage. Harry walked beside him, trying not to imagine what must be going through Blaise's mind at that moment. Blaise stared determinedly ahead, holding Draco's legs at his hips as though nothing could make him let go.

As they turned down a shortcut stair to the Hospital Wing, Harry spoke tentatively.

"So, um, did Draco, um, tell you what—"

"I know about the bloody Horcrux. Dumbledore told me," Blaise growled.

"Oh. Er. Did he—Did Dumbledore tell you about, er, how it—"

"How it's taking over Draco's own soul? How you're going to kill him? Yeah, might have mentioned it."

"Er, well, then I wanted to tell—I—Blaise, you know I don't—"

"This conversation is over, Potter."

"Um. Right. Sorry."

Harry felt extraordinarily stupid. What had he been doing, bringing it up with Blaise, of all people? Blaise had suffered from this whole ordeal as much, if not more, than Harry had. He had lost Draco, his best friend, to Harry. Harry had no right to talk to him about anything involving Draco. Flushing deeply, he stared down at his shoes as they hurried along.

When they finally reached the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey was waiting to meet them. She directed them to an empty bed, where Blaise placed Draco gently down. Giving her limp patient a cursory glance, she hurried off to collect the necessary treatments.

Professor Snape burst in, hurrying to the bedside.

"Mr. Zabini. Tell me what has happened."

Harry watched silently as Blaise gave his accounts of the scene in Slughorn's dungeon. Snape looked deeply troubled.

"Where's Professor Dumbledore, sir?" asked Harry, suddenly realizing that the Headmaster surely would not allow an event such as this to unfold without his attention.

"The Headmaster is away, Potter," said Snape, eyes on Draco. Madame Pomfrey poured a small measure of grayish potion between his lips. The group watched with trepidation for a few seconds—

—then Draco sat bolt upright, panting as though he had just run a marathon.

"Dumbledore!" he gasped, looking around wildly. His eyes fell on Snape.

"Professor. I killed him. There was a forest and this centaur and they were looking at a pond and I came and I killed them, they're dead, they're both—"

He continued breathing heavily, panicked eyes fixed on Snape. Harry felt dizzy, like he had been punched in the stomach. The room seemed to spin. He willed away the images of a dead Dumbledore lying in the forest, forcing himself back to the Hospital Wing. Snape was speaking.

"You..._you_ killed the Headmaster, Draco?"

"Him, I was the Dark Lord, I killed them—" Draco babbled frantically.

"Poppy," murmured Snape to the matron. She started, looking shell-shocked,

"Draco, please, drink this," she said, in a rather higher voice than normal.

Draco took the cup of potion she handed him and drained it in one gulp. He sat quite still, but his breathing eased and he relaxed a little. Then, unexpectedly, he turned to Harry.

"Harry..." he whispered. He was silent, but stared fearfully at Harry. Harry wondered what Draco was trying to say. Then he realized—Draco knew that only Harry could end it. But he wasn't sure if Draco yet knew how Harry was to end it...

"Sit," said Snape to Harry and Blaise. They did. Snape pulled up a third chair beside them. Madame Pomfrey hovered nervously on the other side of the bed, unsure of what to do or what to think. At a pointed look from Snape, she hurried away, looking agitated.

Snape cast a _muffliato _charm around Draco's bed anyway. Harry shifted nervously in his seat.

"Draco, can you tell us what you saw?" asked Snape seriously. Harry had never seen him looking quite so anxious, and it was rubbing off on him. What did Snape think that Draco had seen? What could make him like this?

Blaise, meanwhile, had not taken his eyes off of Draco. Draco was now staring back at him, and suddenly he murmured something.

"I'm sorry."

Blaise just kept looking at him silently, but Draco seemed to draw something from his gaze. He was stark white and staring at Blaise as though he would have liked nothing better than to sob into his shoulder, or anybody's, for that matter. Harry felt as though he had stepped into an alternate universe.

"Draco," pressed Snape, but more gently than Harry had ever heard him speak before. He suddenly felt very much the stranger of the group; godson and godfather, and two best friends. He had no place there. He looked back at Draco, and felt the familiar swoop in his stomach and the heat in his face and regions farther south. Draco finally took his eyes off Blaise and met Harry's. His eyes burned. Harry wondered whether he was daring Harry to leave or to stay.

But the Draco looked away, towards Snape. He took a deep breath, hands clenched on the frame of the bed.

"I—I fell asleep in Potions," he began shakily. "Well, not asleep, but it was like there was a... play or something, showing in my head. And I was in this forest, and I was running—'

"_You _were? Were you yourself or...someone else?" asked Snape, apparently remembering, as Harry did, what Draco had said before he had taken his calming draught.

"No. I was the D-Dark Lord...Vol-Voldemort—" he choked out. Snape flinched and Blaise shuddered. Draco ran his hands hard over his eyes, as though trying to clear them of an image. Harry was forcefully reminded of himself. Was Draco seeing from Voldemort's perspective like in many of Harry's visons? Or was Draco seeing visions planted there by Voldemort, as Harry often had? Harry shivered a little, too, and wrenched himself out of his thoughts, back to Draco's weak voice.

"I was in a forest—running—and I came to this clearing and I stopped. And Dumbledore was in the clearing, with this old centaur, and they were looking at this...pond thing, and then I—he—I—I killed the centaur and then Dumbledore and—I—fought and then he was dead, he was just dead. I did it—the Dark Lord—I don't even—" Draco stammered, looking quite at a loss for what to do.

There was silence.

"Professor, I'm sorry—" offered Draco weakly. Harry had never seen Draco apologize before.

Snape stood up. "You three stay here. I am going to—ah, _confirm_ Draco's experience. I will return shortly," he said before striding from the room in a flurry of black robes.

Draco sank back against the pillows, looking suddenly blank. He turned his head toward Harry.

"Can you—this—" he trailed off again, looking almost pleading. Harry just shook his head noncommittally, avoiding Draco's eyes. Hi stomach felt like it was made of lead again. Blaise pulled Draco's blankets over him in such a gentle, loving way that Harry almost couldn't watch. He felt again like he was intruding, and that he and Draco should never have been together in the first place. He shook his head again, this time more to himself, trying to clear it of depressing thoughts and worries. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work.

Draco seemed calmer now. He lay still, glancing vaguely between Blaise and Harry, looking a little sad and a little shaken. Harry imagined that he was quite ready for a good night's sleep.

Five minutes later, Snape burst back into the ward. He came to a halt between Blaise and Harry, looking grave.

"I'm afraid to report that what you witnessed was no mere dream or vision implanted there by the Dark Lord," he said grimly, glancing significantly at Harry. "I checked the headmaster's office. Professor Dumbledore's portrait is hanging there. He...he is gone."

Harry felt waves of shock crash over him. He felt the sensation of falling again, and his vision swam. He put out a hand unthinkingly to steady himself, and found Blaise's shoulder. The other flinched at the touch, but had eyes only for Draco, who was staring in shock at Snape.

"Severus—_me_—" he whispered, looking almost terrified. The use of his godfather's first name told that much.

"It is not your fault, Draco," said Snape fiercely. "You merely witnessed the, ah, event, through the perpetrator's eyes, due to your heightened consciousness of said person. Nothing more."

There was another one of those uncomfortable silences. Draco was looking intently at nothing in particular, breathing a little harder then he had been a minute ago. Blaise was blinking, looking around at all the people in the room, as though confirming whether this was reality.

Harry was motionless, unable to stop the realization that he was finally, undeniably alone—now without parents, Sirius, and finally Dumbledore. He let his gaze fall on Draco. _Draco didn't leave me..._he thought stupidly. _But then again, _he realized hopelessly, _it's only a matter of time..._

Snape sighed. "I think it's time you got some sleep, Draco. Real sleep, for a change. Poppy! Ah—" He waved his wand, and the air around them shimmered with magic as the _muffliato _was lifted. "Poppy," he called again.

The matron came out of her office, a look of great trepidation on her face.

"Is—is what the boy says—is it true, Severus? Dumbledore—dead?" she asked fearfully.

Snape sighed again. "I checked his office, Poppy. His portrait—"

She let out a little gasp and swayed where she stood. Snape put out a hand and grasped her forearm, steadying her.

"Dreamless Sleep for Draco, if you please," he asked quietly.

"Yes—yes, of course—" she murmured tearfully. She hurried away to a large cabinet full of bottles, wiping her eyes on a corner of her smock as she went. She returned with a bottle full of swirling bluish potion, which she poured into a goblet. "Drink up, dear," she said as soothingly as she could manage, proffering the goblet to Draco.

Appearing to snap out of his trance, he accepted the potion, drained it and sank back against his pillows at once, his eyes closed, his face at last totally blank.

"Come, boys," muttered Snape, for both were looking reluctant to leave Draco's bedside.

Stealing a last look at the peacefully sleeping figure on the bed, they followed Snape out of the ward. They could hear Madame Pomfrey blowing her nose as the doors swung shut behind them.

"If you would be so kind as to return to your common rooms, Blaise, Potter. I must go alert the staff to what has transpired. And it would be best if your classmates found out fromthe staff, while we're on the subject."

Blaise and Harry nodded numbly. Snape inclined his head and strode away in the direction of the staff room, just as the bell for the end of the day's lessons was sounding. Harry turned to go, lost in thought.

"Potter."

Harry turned apprehensively.

"Zabini."

"Look...I know what's going on between you and Draco. I don't care, and I don't want to know why." He paused, then continued somewhat dramatically, "But he's my best mate, and as far as I'm concerned his life is in your hands."

Harry nodded, thinking he could see where Blaise was going and not liking it at all.

"So..." Blaise faltered, searching for the words. "Take care of him, yeah?"

Harry nodded again, not saying anything. His throat was very dry.

"Because I'll kill you if anything happens to him."

"R—right," muttered Harry hoarsely.

Blaise studied Harry's face for a moment, looking shrewd. Then he proffered his hand.

"Truce. For now."

Harry stared at Blaise's hand, then shook it awkwardly. "Um...right," he said again. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened, and didn't particularly care to think about it. Blaise, however, seemed satisfied. He nodded grimly and strode away toward the dungeons. Harry noted with some admiration that he was able to walk proudly, the way Slytherins were supposed to, despite all to which he had been submitted that day.

Harry made his way up to Gryffindor Tower, shaking his head. And in the wake of all that had happened over the course of the afternoon—Draco's collapse, his story of his vision, the news of Dumbledore's death—Harry could only think about what Blaise had said and done. Only one ridiculous thought floated hazily to the surface of his benumbed and battered brain.

_Slytherins_.

**A/N**: Geh. I'm glad this one is done so I can move on. Next chapter we get some fluffy romance angst! And happy late Valentine's Day. Heartz.


End file.
